


FRACTURED

by Ivan_Beau



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Gay Draco Malfoy, Gay Harry Potter, Gay Romance, Gay Sex, Guns, Harry Potter Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hermit Draco Malfoy, M/M, On the Run, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Canon, Post-Hogwarts, Powerful Harry, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Snarky Draco Malfoy, Top Harry Potter, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-10-07 13:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17366966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivan_Beau/pseuds/Ivan_Beau
Summary: When Aurors Harry and Ron catch Fenrir Greyback they discover something that propels Harry on a solo race against the most dangerous Death Eater fugitive, Rodolphus Lestrange. But things go awry and Harry soon finds himself wandless, in the middle of nowhere, incommunicado, and cooperating with Draco Malfoy as Lestrange hunts them down.





	1. Cold

Harry crouched in his invisibility cloak next to a thick bush. He blew on his gloved but cold hands as he watched the entrance to a cave at the foot of a cliff which was under a sloppy camouflage charm. He hated forests; particularly ones that looked like the Forbidden Forest. It held too many bad memories, and his PTSD cropped up. It made him jittery. Crouched for hours on a stakeout in the middle of winter didn't help his mood.

Ron, who huddled next to him, shot him a worried glance. "Alright, mate?" he whispered.

"Yeah." Harry nodded towards their target to let Ron know he wanted to focus on the mission, not chat. He didn't mean to be so cold, but sometimes that was all he could feel.

His long wait proved fruitful when he caught sight of Fenrir Greyback slinking out of the narrow cave entrance. In the rain, wearing a faded trench coat, the werewolf nearly blended with the rock face. For once he was without his pack. It was a prime opportunity to catch him.

Harry waited until Greyback neared a crevice about twenty feet away, before jumping out of his cloak and stunning him. Ron ran into the cave while Harry secured their target. A moment later, his partner called out, "Clear!"

"It's kind of anti-climatic," he told Ron when he came back out. They'd been following the werewolf's trail for months after reports of multiple sighting of him and Rodolphus Lestrange meeting together.

"Yeah, but don't sound so disappointed. I, for one, prefer it when a job goes smoothly. Got a family to go back to."

Harry knew Ron didn't mean to be cruel, but the words still stung. He would never admit to his envy of his friends, so he smiled sadly at Ron and told him, "You're right."

"We both do, you know that right?"

"Yeah." He looked at the bound werewolf crumbled on the snowy turf by the cliff face and muttered, "Rennervate." As Greyback groaned, Harry could barely keep himself from killing the bastard then and there. Instead, he demanded, "Where's Lestrange?"

Even though he squirmed in his magical bindings, Greyback grinned nastily and kept his mouth shut. Harry kicked him in the solar plexus. Then, as Greyback curled over his stomach with a groan, Harry kicked him in the face. Kneeling down, he jabbed his wand against the werewolf's bearded cheek and repeated the question through gritted teeth.

"I suggest you don't test him, Greyback," said Ron from his shoulder.

Coughing, Greyback spat some blood onto the snow-dusted ground, before glaring up at the young Aurors. He said gruffly, "He's doing a better job than you lot tracking down his Ol' buddies. If you don't hurry, you'll run out of people to arrest." He cackled delightedly and added, "But he might be doing you a favor with his next target, I'll wager."

"I doubt it," Harry scoffed coldly.

With a bloody grin, Greyback said, "You sure? You'll probably want this one dead."

"I want all of you dead. But that's up to the Wizengamot to decide."

"Oh, but you have a particularly nasty history with Draco Malfoy and his family, don't you?"

Harry couldn't help the scowl that formed between his brows at the name and Greyback's grin got bigger. "It's too bad I won't get a taste of him. I wanted to sink my teeth in him this time, nice and proper."

Ron shot the werewolf a stinging hex, which abruptly cut his laughter short. "Where's Malfoy then," he pressed.

"Don't know," grunted Greyback.

"Lestrange must have an idea if he's tracking Malfoy? What does he know?"

"You figure it out, Potter. It's your job."

This time Harry grinned. "Yeah. And I'm good at it."

With a resigned sigh, Ron said, "Harry, I've got your back but make my life easier. Don't leave any permanent marks on him."

"That's what magic is for."

"Harry..."

"Relax." Harry pointed his wand at Greyback and muttered a stronger variation of the stinging hex. It targeted internal organs. Greyback began to writhe and cry out in agony, as if under the Cruciatus.

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered.

Harry ignored him and leaned closely over the werewolf's ear. "I can drag this on all night until the Cruciatus starts to look like child's play."

Gritting his teeth, Greyback tried to speak, but all he managed to do was groan and spit. Harry waited patiently as Greyback rode out the pain, but when he finally strung together a sentence, he said, "You'd...ve...made a half decent...Death Eater, Potter."

Harry sensed Ron moved angrily towards them and held up his hand to halt him. "Tell me what you know. Where were you and Lestrange to meet up?"

Greyback glared silently. Harry shot him another hex, this time aimed at his crotch, and waited again for the werewolf to regain his senses. With his rugged face plastered against the forest floor, Greyback struggled to breathe. "Fuck!" he cried, spraying spit and snot into the dirt.

"Next is your prostate. Tell me the location of the rendezvous."

"Fuck...in...'ell!"

Harry lifted his wand again.

"Okay...okay! Lestrange set up a portkey somewhere in Yorkshire. S...s'pposed to take me...to 'im...fuck!"

"Where in Yorkshire? Tell me everything."

"Fuck you, Potter!"

Sighing, Harry made good on his promise. Greyback screamed. It took a few more stinging hexes in the right places to squeeze the details out. By the end, Greyback was struggling to keep his eyes open against the pain.

Harry watched him coldly for a few moments, secretly relishing Greyback's suffering on behalf of all the people whose lives the werewolf' had destroyed. Then, with a swift flick of his wand, the swelling and welts on Greyback's body vanished. A counterspell for the stinging jinxes; all of which Harry had cultivated over time.

"I hate that you learned those tricks," said Ron as he went back to pick up the invisibility cloak. "They're awfully devious and cruel. Sometimes you look more like a Slytherin than the straight-laced Gryffindor I once knew."

Harry knocked Greyback out with the stunning spell, then stood up and turned to Ron. "As long as we get shit like him locked away in Azkaban and far away from innocent people, I'm fine with being whatever I need to be. We're not in school anymore, Ron."

Ron winced. "I just feel like you're drifting away from us, Harry. You stopped seeing the Mind Healer too. Hermione says it's important that we talk to someone-"

"The war was three years ago."

Ron looked about to argue, but then thought better of it and sighed in exasperation. "You know what, let's just take Greyback and finish our reports."

"I'm going after Lestrange."

Shooting Harry a disbelieving look, Ron cried, "Are you mad? We have to go back and report this. We've got to put a plan together!"

"You can handle it. If we lose this lead we'll find another dead ex-Death Eater-"

"You mean a dead Draco Malfoy?"

Whatever Ron intended to imply so vaguely went over Harry's head. He only knew that he didn't want to see someone else with whom they had grown up die. Even if the person in question was a poncy and overbearing git.

"What I _mean_ is that I want Lestrange locked away for good. Out of all the remaining Death Eaters we're hunting down, he's the most active and the most dangerous. He's killed too many people since the end of the war. We need to catch him soon."

Ron shook his head with an exasperated sigh and put his hands on his hips. "Damn it, Harry. No matter what I say you're still going, aren't you? You can't handle him alone."

"And I won't. As far as he'll know he's meeting Greyback on schedule."

Harry bent over the werewolf and, with a simple cutting spell, sliced a lock of hair from his head.

"You never did play by the rules," said Ron.

"My way is better. Can you handle Greyback by yourself?"

"Yeah. Watch your back, Harry."

"You too."

"And please don't do anything stupid. Like trying to catch him by yourself. You'll call for backup when you find his whereabouts, yeah?"

"Look who's talking. Weren't you the one that went solo in the Tricklebank case?"

"Tricklebank isn't Lestrange, mate."

"Stop worrying. I'll just make sure we don't lose this lead. And maybe I can get to Malfoy before Lestrange does."

Ron chortled sardonically and muttered, "Of course," then they slapped one another on the shoulder and parted ways. Ron apparated side-along with an unconscious Greyback slung over his shoulders, and Harry apparated to the mouth of Knockturn Alley. His destination was not far off.

Glamour charm in place, he strode down the narrow, deserted cobbled street until he stood before a little shop with black beams and which slanted forward a little precariously. It stood between a rickety apothecary and an antique store with several layers of grime crusted on its window display. The shopkeeper, a short, balding middle-aged man with a white goatee and round, crooked glasses, ducked behind the counter as soon as Harry stepped inside.

"Here now, Brimble! I saw you. Don't make this hard. I'm not in the mood."

Hesitantly, Brimble revealed himself from behind the counter and raised himself on a step-ladder. The narrow shop only had a few wooden shelves and even fewer things on them. Harry knew Brimble kept his illegal goods in a magical space at the back of the shop.

"I need Polyjuice."

With an affronted grimace Harry knew was fake, Bimble cried, "Do you really think I just have that sort of thing lying around? It'll take months-"

Harry cut him off, "Don't test me!" He leaned in threateningly and the little man shrank back. "I'm asking nicely. This is the reason you're not rotting in Azkaban, but the minute you become useless to me, that's exactly where you'll go. Give me the bloody potion, Brimble. I'm not here for you."

This shopkeeper turned away sullenly, muttering, "If only people knew their precious hero is a corrupt Auror," and disappeared behind the moth-eaten drape that led to the back.

Harry did not care much for the man's opinion. He knew he wasn't corrupt. He wasn't out for himself, and he didn't commit any crimes – most of the time. He bent the rules occasionally in order to get the job done. That was what brought the bad guys behind bars – not playing by the book.

When Brimble returned, sour expression still in place on his small, haggard face, he got back on his step-ladder and placed the potion on the counter. Harry took it without paying. He did the small-time crook enough favors as payment.

Once he stepped out, he apparated to Grimmauld Place where he got out of his Auror robes and into a pair of loose Muggle jeans and a pullover. He took out his shrunken Invisibility Cloak from his Auror robes and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans. The wind-breaker jacket was a little big on him but would fit Greyback well enough. Downstairs, he took an empty flask from one of the kitchen cabinets, filling it with Polyjuice and a tuft of Greyback's hair before heading back out.

Greyback's directions led him to a rusted old boat, hidden by a disillusionment charm and docked on the River Idle in Yorkshire beneath a bridge adjacent to an abandoned red-brick steel factory. He looked around the gloomy terrain, a vast expanse of hilly turf and a dirt path that led from the factory to the highway. Just to be safe, he muttered, "Homenum Revelio," and when he was sure he was all alone, he stepped into the boat and drank the Polyjuice Potion.

He hated these transformations. It was a miracle they weren't more painful in rearranging his entire bone structure, but once he adjusted he took a few minutes to recall everything he knew about Greyback and practice some of his mannerisms. When he was sure he could successfully pass as the werewolf, he walked up to a dirty Muggle magazine set on one of the stained pleather seats. Taking a deep breath, he went over and grabbed the portkey, immediately feeling the tell-tale tug in his abdomen. Seconds later, he blinked and inspected his surroundings. He was in a freezing old shed – alone.

The rotted roof beams and dark corners were covered in cobwebs and the few items that were strewn around suggested it once belonged to a Muggle logger. Plastered on the door with a sticking charm was a note with a jumbled array of strange characters written in red ink. Harry muttered an incantation which revealed the intended message; a handy thing which Hermione had developed for him. To anyone else, the message would have appeared to be random numbers, but Harry was closely familiar with Death Eater parlance and coded language.

The numbers were coordinates.

Harry tore the note down and stuffed it in his windbreaker jacket. When he stepped out, he was briefly taken aback by the harshly cold wind, the undisturbed snow stretching for miles, and the misty mountains lining the southern and eastern horizons. Intoning a spell which revealed his location, Harry sighed in resignation, wishing he had known beforehand that he would be tracking a dangerous convict through the Swiss Alps. He would have brought warmer clothes.

The warming charm he cast on himself barely relieved him of the cold. He registered the coordinates to his wand and watched as it swiveled like the hand in a muggle compass before pointing northeast. Harry followed his wand, hoping he wasn't too late to save Malfoy.

The destination was further than Harry thought. Unfortunately, the spell didn't reveal his own coordinates. As he trekked through the snowy dunes with his arms around himself and his head dipped low to shield it from the frosty air, he noticed the winds started to pick up and dark clouds approached from behind him. The nearest fringe of trees was still a few kilometers away at the foot of a hill. It was barely noticeable as a dark line rising above a snowy field. He grabbed his floating wand and headed that way, praying he found shelter to wait out the storm before it hit.

Unfortunately, the blizzard caught him before he was halfway there. The snow he trod on was high and he felt it drench his legs through his thin jeans and his Timberlands. His thighs and hands had gone from burning to numb as the freezing temperature seeped into his bones. The fringe of trees ahead seemed to disappear as the snow swirled around him and made visibility near impossible.

He hoped he reached the woods soon. He hoped he found shelter in them. The last thing he needed was to die frozen and lost in the Alps after everything he had survived.


	2. Man in the Storm

 

Draco tutted as he looked into his bathroom cabinet. He was nearly out of contact lens solution and would need to go into town. He hated going into town. The muggle villagers didn't trust him and he didn't trust them. However, he was running out of eggs and milk too, so he decided to make a quick run to the store.

He looked around his small, window-less cottage for his eyeglasses and keys. The windows were sealed with bricks when he first moved in so that the only entrance was the front door. Fear of the outside world overpowered any worry of being trapped inside.

Despite the lack of sunlight, the interior of his cottage was homely, lit warmly by the golden glow of his Muggle electric-powered lamps. A wooden table with only one chair took the center of the room near the fireplace he never used. He used electric heaters for both rooms. The kitchenette to the left of the front door was kept neat and clean, well-used pots and pans hanging from a rack above the counter next to the stove. A small couch stood against the wall across from his kitchenette. In front of it, a coffee table was strewn with books. To the right were two plank doors, one leading to the bathroom, the other to his bedroom.

He steered away from cool colors, preferring earthy tones: reds, browns, and beige. Never any green. He wanted desperately the sense of warmth and safety, something he hadn't really had since the summer after Fifth Year. And he wanted to be left alone in his little cottage for the rest of his life. He was safe alone.

Despite his brown contact lenses and his dyed black hair and eyebrows, Draco still used a glamour charm whenever he went into town to soften the edges around his angular jawline and sharp nose, and to darken his milk-white complexion a little. He mussed his hair up into a stylish wind-swept look, put on his fake eyeglasses, his fur-lined white coat, his boots, grabbed his keys and stepped into the driveway. The snow was piling. _I'll need to shovel that soon_ , he told himself as he got into his Subaru Outback and started his half-hour trip into town.

Roughly ten minutes into the drive he stopped, cursing at what he saw in his rearview mirror. The horizon from the direction of his home was covered in an ominous storm cloud. If he continued he'd get stuck in the storm long before he reached the town. If he turned back, he might make it home before the storm hit.

"Unbelievable," muttered Draco, and turned the car around.

It was a windy day and it wasn't long before the snow started to pick up and thinly blanket his visibility. He would have to drive nearly blind. Thankfully, the road home never had much traffic and Draco believed he was the only idiot driving out that day. He was beginning to rethink his stubborn refusal to purchase a muggle telly – for the weather reports if nothing else. He already lived so similarly to one, it rankled him to think he might need to fully integrate himself in their world now that he hid from his own.

And this snowstorm was going to be a particularly nasty one. Draco turned on his headlights at max and leaned forward in his seat, his knuckles white on the wheel. He was driving slow so it would take a while to reach home and he felt the first inkling of a panic attack crop up.

 _Not now, not now, please, not now,_ he told himself.  _Keep it together, Draco, one breath at a time._

The road was soon becoming hard to see, it was bad enough it was in the middle of an expanse of snowy fields stretching for miles that would bloom with flowers in the spring. Even then it was narrow, it's curves hidden under the flower fields. It was his diligent focus on any signs of a road that helped him notice a black lump crumpled in the snow, several meters to his right. It took a moment to realize that might be a body.

If he left the road he might not be able to spot the road again, but he couldn't just leave a person lying there. He cried in exasperation, hating his own cowardice which had brought him so much grief in his past. This was his chance to redeem himself even a little. A chance to not hate himself so much.

Coming to a decision he stopped his SUV and got out. He opened the trunk, which contained hiking tools and equipment, and tied one end of a rope around one of the door handles and the other end around his waist. Then he put up his hood and zipped his coat up to his nose and started to trek across the snow towards the body.

The swirling snow made gauging the distance difficult but luckily the person wasn't far off. Draco crouched next to them and turned them around – then fell back crying in alarm. Fenrir Greyback! It was suddenly difficult to breathe and the sight of the werewolf stirred old, painful memories that threaten to overwhelm him.

Draco fumbled for his gun and pointed it with a quivering hand at Greyback. No one would know. Except he couldn't bring himself to do it, not even to one that had done him so much evil. However, as he goggled fearfully at the werewolf's bearded, weathered face, dusted in snow, it started to bubble and rearrange itself. A few seconds later, it was not Greyback but Harry Potter that lay before him.

The utter shock at what he discovered seemed to put a stopper on his panic. Harry Potter, polyjuiced as Fenrir Greyback, on death's door in the middle of nowhere in the Swiss Alps. Draco would have feared that the Auror had tracked him down and come to arrest him if it wasn't for that fact that there was no reason to polyjuice himself to do so, for one. For another, Draco and his mother had been pardoned thanks to the very noble idiot.

Draco wasted no time. Locking his 9mm and shoving it into his coat pocket, he grabbed Potter under the arms and dragged him back to his car. It took a while to get him on the back seats. Draco was shaking, consternated, past horrors popping back up in his mind, and surely he'd gotten weaker over the years of hiding away in his little cottage, only hiking the mountainside to forage for potion ingredients. After he secured the half-dead idiot, he got back in the driver's seat and groaned in dismay. The storm was getting worse.

It took another fifteen minutes to get home. The bottom of the door was covered in inches of snow. He unlocked it, dug some of the snow, pulled it open half way and hurried back to his car. Once again, he dragged Potter out with some difficulty ( _when the bloody hell did he get so big?_ ) out of the SUV and across the snow, and finally got them both inside the warmth and safety of his cottage.

He stripped Potter and dragged him close to the fireplace. He hated fire but Potter was chilled to the bone and he needed to raise his body temperature soon. Grouchily, he mumbled, "Your idiotic Gryffindork tendency to sport with death never ceases to amaze, Potter. What  _are_ you doing here?"

First, he took some wood by the fireplace (he kept it just in case the heaters broke during an emergency) and, keeping far away as he could, lit a fire reluctantly with his rarely used makeshift wand. It was always a hit or miss with it, but if he concentrated deeply enough he could safely ignite a small spark. Draco checked Potter to see if he had any frostbite. When he determined the fool was in no danger and must have collapsed from both the cold and exhaustion, he covered him in blankets and went to make some soup.

As the food simmered in the pot, Draco went over to Potter's discarded clothes – less than adequate for Alpine winters. He picked them up and as he lifted the wind-breaker a flask fell out of its pocket. When he bent over to pick up the flask, a note fell out as well. 

"What is he up to," he asked as he inspected the items, sniffing the content in the flask. It contained some cheap, amateur concoction that passed as Polyjuice Potion. The note had some numbers and it took Draco a moment to realize it was Death Eater code with the location of the town. The sight of it unnerved him.

"Shit," he whispered shakily and glanced at Potter's sleeping form, cocooned in thick woolen blankets on his couch. "Who are you after and what do they want here?"


	3. Familiar Stranger

 

Harry opened his gummy eyes and rubbed them. He was warm; not at all where he should be. He shot up to a sitting position and scanned his surroundings. Over the table which stood in front of him, he could see a kitchenette where a black-haired man with his back turned to Harry was stirring something in a pot. Whatever it was smelled good and Harry's stomach rumbled with anticipation.

The windows were sealed with bricks and there were three doors; two of them opened, the other of which Harry deduced was the only exit. It had no less than six locks on it. That alone sparked his suspicion. When he went for his wand, he noticed not only that it wasn't on him but that he was naked under several layers of blankets.

In one seemingly swift movement, Harry stood up and cried "Accio Wand!" It flew into his hand from what looked like the bedroom. Instantly, he pointed it at the man who, upon hearing Harry shout, had turned and drawn his own wand.

They stared at each other silently. Harry eyed the stranger closely. He was young, around his own age and height, and spooked if his trembling wand hand was anything to go by. There was something familiar about his doe-brown eyes, but he couldn't recall where he had seen them. And Harry was Auror enough to never dismiss it when his brain told him it recognized something.

Suddenly the young man screamed, "Fire!" and dropped his wand – mostly out of panic than in surrender. Harry was about to say he wasn't falling for it when the young man fell to his knees and started hyperventilating. He turned and sure enough the blankets he had carelessly flung off himself had fallen too close to the fire.

With a simple "Aguamenti!" water spurted from his wand and extinguished the fire with a great hiss. He turned to find the young man shaking on the floor.

"Damn it..." Harry hated dealing with people when they broke down. He wasn't very good at it. He hurried over to the young man, picked up his wand on the way for good measure (in case it was an act to make Harry lower his guard,) and shook his shoulder. "Hey...ah shit." The stranger was having a panic attack.

Through his gasps, the young man struggled to utter, "...Calm...draught...cab'n-ette..."

Harry hurried over to the kitchenette, searched the cabinets and sure enough found an abnormal vast stock of the potion in one of them. Taking a vial, he rushed back, popped the lip open and handed it to the young man before standing back and pointing his wand again.

When Harry determined he was better, he asked in English, thankful that the stranger knew the language well enough, "Who are you?"

Hand on his chest, the young man scowled and cried indignantly, his voice shaking, "I'm the one who saved you from becoming an icicle on the side of the road, you barbaric oaf! Put that down immediately and stop threatening me in my own home!" Then, to Harry's further surprise, the young man blushed and turned his eyes away from Harry. "And for Merlin's sake, I set clothes for you on the bed – go and put them on this instant! The disgusting rags you call winter raiment are drying in the bathroom and a good thing I removed them when I did. You were seconds from catching your death in them! But instead of thanking me, no, I get almost killed by your stupidity and paranoia! How dare you! And give me back my wand." Despite his bravado, the hand he held up trembled.

The dramatics and posh English accent caught Harry off guard. He wasn't expecting anything waking up in a strange cottage in the middle of the Swiss Alps, but certainly not a melodramatic Englishman – and not one with a voice that was very familiar.

Harry didn't lower his wand as the young man stood up shakily. He realized the Polyjuice had worn off and he stood before a fellow English wizard as Harry Potter. Though, the young man clearly gave a doxy's arse about that, which only spiked Harry's curiosity.

"You haven't answered my question. Who are you? And how long have I been out?"

The young man rolled his eyes and threw his hands up as if to ask the heavens to bear witness to this unreasonableness. Harry thought he was perfectly within his rights to question the stranger first, even if he was bare naked.

"My name is Taran Maelwaedd. I found you about an hour ago. And will you please return my wand and get yourself dressed. To think: here I am making your soup, believing you might be hungry when you wake up. I should have dug a trench instead!"

Perhaps it was the way the young man huffed and puffed that Harry found rather endearing, but he lowered his wand - though he had no intention of lowering his guard - and handed Taran his own. He went into the bedroom, lit dimly by a single lamp on the bedside table. Sure enough, there was a stack of clothes folded neatly on the bed. He donned the pair of bootleg jeans and thick socks and a turtleneck before he scanned the room.

Despite being shoved to the farthest corner, the large, four-poster bed took up most of the room. The thickly carved massive bed frame looked to be an antique and so very expensive it spelled out heirloom from old money. On the side table next to it, there was a small oil lamp and a CD-player beside a stack of CD cases. The topmost one was a Jean Paul album.

It was rather unexpected, but it made Harry go over to peruse the small stack. Taran's taste in music was rather versatile, ranging from alternative rock to R&B Toni Braxton, Whitney Houston, Foo Fighters, Alanis Morissette...the Starship Troopers Soundtrack. One thing was certain: the strange young wizard liked American Muggle music.

Taran was setting the table just as Harry left the room. When the young man took out his wand - a gnarled, rustic-looking thing - Harry stiffened, but then loosened up when all Taran did was transfigure an antique mahogany bench by the door into a chair. Or what was supposed to be one but ended up looking like a slanted barrel. Harry drew his own wand and fixed it, barely catching Taran's embarrassed expression and murmured, "Thank you," as he walked back to the stove to serve the food.

He noticed the vacuum cleaner by the kitchenette and the car keys on a side table by the door next to the wall hooks from which hung a thick, white coat and scarf. He lives like a Muggle. There were no less than three fire extinguishers hooked to walls around the small cottage. An exaggeration by Harry's estimate. Still, he didn't sense danger and the place was homely enough, but there was something lonely and sad about Taran himself. Here was an English wizard who likely came from a high-born upbringing, considering the way he carried himself, back straight and effortlessly gliding strides, as well as his level of articulacy, living in a window-less cottage with only one chair in it, and who sometimes listened to a Starship Troopers soundtrack before bed. Harry was intrigued.

Sitting on the transfigured chair, Harry looked down at the bowl of potato and lentil soup, then up at Taran who sat across from him. The young wizard gave him a wry look and scoffed, "Yes, it's poison. You've managed to see through my evil ploy, though I had to sacrifice my last batch of potatoes. What will I do now? Oh! Maybe I should have just let you freeze in the middle of a snowstorm! Then you'd be dead and I'd still have some potatoes left."

The amused little chortle that escaped from Harry came out of nowhere, surprising both of them. Harry cleared his throat and dug into his stew, realizing just how ravenous he truly was. He hadn't eaten since hours before the stakeout the previous night. Supper was eaten in silence, thinly layered in tension but the flavorful lentil and potato soup more than made up for it.

The wind outside shrieked and banged on the door.

"Appears it is going to be a nasty one," noted Taran.

 _Shit. I have to find Lestrange before he gets to Malfoy,_ Harry told himself, shaking his head to clear his drowsiness.

"You should rest," said Taran. "I could make the couch bigger."

"That's really kind of you, but I can't stay here. I have something important to do and I don't have much time."

"We're snowed in," Taran said slowly with a sneer as if speaking to a contemptible three-year-old.

"I'm aware," Harry replied, keeping his temper in check. "Do you have Floo powder?"

Taran shook his head. That surprised Harry. What wizard didn't have that?

"Then can you deactivate the anti-apparition wards temporarily so that I can apparate outside?"

"Are you stupid? No, don't answer that. I know you are. There's a blizzard, and I don't know if you noticed, but you almost died out trying to brave it like the suicidal lunatic you've-you seem to be."

Harry couldn't argue with that logic, even though his urge to find Lestrange before he killed Malfoy and got away compelled him to get a move on.

The look on his face must have been one of those stony ones that Ron always complained about because Taran cleared his throat nervously and softened his tone. "Look once the storm passes I'll remove the wards so that you can apparate outside. In the meantime, if what you need to do is so urgent, you'll focus better with some rest. Take this chance. Truly, you look like shit, to be frank."

Harry glared and said sarcastically, "Thanks."

"You're most welcome! Now that I have successfully completed my good deed for the next ten years, I think I'll retire for a nap. The anxiety you've continuously caused me today has drained me. Please don't kill me or burn my home down while I'm sleeping."

"I'll try," answered Harry dryly.

Taran nodded and stood up. As he walked towards his room he seemed to hesitate, turned partially as if to say something, but then thought better of it and went into his room, closing the door behind him. Harry found that strange and he really felt the urge to interrogate him, but then he figured Taran was right and he needed to be in top shape to deal with Lestrange. He went over to the couch and with a wave of his wand he elongated it, threw himself on the fluffy blankets, and let sleep take him.

When next he woke, Taran was still in his bedroom. It would have been hard to tell what time it was had it not been for the wall clock by the fridge that read six-twelve in the evening. With a soft groan, he sat up and set his feet on an expensive Persian rug lain in front of the couch under the coffee table. 

He got up and started to nosy about Taran's home to get a good reading on the familiar stranger. One elaborately carved, heavy wooden table took the center of the room with a simple white, linen table cloth thrown over it. One carved antique bench with white embroidered upholstery by the door under the hooks that held his coat and scarf. Next to it, a side table with his wallet and car keys.

The walls were wood, some nice but still paintings on them. The red kitchenette was chic and shiny – not very old but well used and looked to be quite pricey. The couch was small but soft, the kind one saw in a country interior design magazine. The coffee table in front of it was strewn with a few books that looked fairly new and fairly Muggle. Against the wall by the fireplace, just before the door to the bathroom, there was a small bookshelf. Harry went to inspect it.

The shelves were crammed with both wizard and Muggle books. Only about twenty percent of them were fiction – most were about history, philosophy, and magic. Even Muggle alchemy and esoteric books. Loads of tomes on potions.

No sign of magical items. The broom leaning on the side of the fridge next to the vacuum, the clock on the wall, the paintings – all non-magical. In the cabinets over the kitchenette, there were potions, mostly calming draughts, and potion ingredients. Those were the only relatively magical things the Taran seemed to own.

 _Arthur would like this bloke_ , thought Harry. 

The door to the bedroom opened and Taran stood there holding a box of what looked like a board game. He narrowed his eyes. "Going through my things?"

"I think waking up trapped in an unknown cottage with a stranger gives me the right to know who I'm trapped with, don't you?"

"And did you find anything suspicious?"

"Not as of yet."

"Oh good. Then seeing as I'm in the clear for now you won't mind playing a game with me. I always wanted to play it but never...well. Now that you're here we can." He strode over to the table and placed the box on it.

"Monopoly?"

"Yes. I'd like to see what it is like to bankrupt someone, even if just pretending."

Harry snorted. "And why would you want to see what that is like?"

"Don't you? Muggles certainly do. Come, play me. Transfigure the bench – might as well just leave it as a chair for the duration of your stay."

Harry did so and he couldn't help feeling that there was something about the young man that was familiar. Though Taran had been nothing but kind and friendly, there was something about him that irrationally vexed Harry. Made him want to be contrary. Perhaps it was the air of superciliousness that while not consciously present in Taran's actions seemed to underline his mannerisms – just barely held back. Perhaps it was the slightly sharp nose that he pointed up when he spoke and the way he expected things to go his way.

Harry told himself to loosen up. The man saved his life, kept him warm, fed him and now was entertaining him. Despite not being able to hide his wealthy upbringing, Taran was clearly a humble person. Harry could indulge him a game.

"Do you know how to play," Harry asked.

Taran nodded. "Well, I read the instructions and I tried playing with myself once, but that didn't go very well. Have you ever played it?"

"Er...only once. I don't think I understood it too well."

Nodding, Taran explained the rules. He was eloquent which made his explanations clear and easy to follow. They spent the next several hours playing the game well into the night. Even with the red "speed dice" the game was long. They played two rounds, both in which Taran had ruthlessly destroyed Harry. The man was good at trading for properties he wanted with sly offers and underhanded tactics. He would have been a Slytherin through and through had he gone to Hogwarts.

By the time they were putting the game away, Harry was feeling rather cross at being bankrupt twice, but Taran was glowing. He said with a smile as pure as sunshine, "That was fun! There should be a magical equivalent."

Harry shook his head. "I'll stick with Exploding Snap, thanks." Taran shrugged and went to put the game away. Meanwhile, Harry tapped his foot, getting restless. His thoughts kept gravitating towards Lestrange. The Death Eater no doubt had noticed something was wrong at this point and most likely proceeded to hunt down Malfoy on his own. If the blizzard hadn't gotten in the way.

When Taran returned, he noticed Harry's worried frown. "What's wrong," he asked.

Harry ran a nervous hand through his hair and tutted. "I'm wasting time here, that's what's wrong!" When Taran flinched Harry regretted snapping at him and said more gently, "I'm sorry. I am really grateful for all that you did for me. It's just that...it's a matter of life and death. And I'm running out of time."

"Are you after a Death Eater?"

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And how would you know that?"

Taran gave him a "duh" look. "Half the world knows you're an Auror obsessed with hunting down ex-Death Eaters that escaped capture. And you were Polyjuiced as the werewolf one when I found you. I almost had a panic attack."

Blinking, Harry mumbled, "Oh."

Taran turned his eyes away, looking a little uncomfortable when he admitted, "I, uh, went through your pockets. I saw the flask and the note...it had numbers on it?" Taran's questioning tone seemed to want to prod Harry for information.

Harry thought it wouldn't affect the case to alert Taran to the danger nearby. "They're coded coordinates to the town near hear. I'm tracking Rodolphus Lestrange – was suppose to catch him there. So I suggest you keep vigilant after I leave. I'll leave you my card, let me know if you...what's wrong?" Harry suddenly stood up when he saw Taran sway and went to help him sit on the couch. His face had gone white as a birch.

Taran shook his head and whispered, "W-what is Rodolphus...Lestrange doing here?"

"You know of him?"

"Of course. Everyone knows he's one of You-Know-Who's most loyal followers. Everyone knows what he and his family did to the Longbottoms."

"You don't look good, are you okay?"

Instead of answering, Taran licked his lips and repeated the question. "There aren't many wizards or witches around here so what does he want? Is he in hiding?"

Harry decided to take this opportunity to interrogate him off the chance he might know something. "He's looking for someone. If what you say is true then maybe you've seen him. A wizard by the name of Draco Malfoy. Know of him?"

Taran nodded silently but wouldn't look up. All of a sudden he stiffened, then sprinted towards the bathroom and closed the door securely behind him. Moments later, Harry heard retching sounds. He waited behind the bathroom door a few minutes before entering. The man was slumped against the bathtub, one hand on the porcelain bowl.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah."

Perhaps it was his Auror training so embedded in him at this point that it was like breathing and eating, but a perfunctory glance around the bathroom made him note the box of black hair dye on the counter by the sink and the dark purple specks on the sink itself. It had been recently used. Something about that didn't sit well with him. He felt his mind grow restless – something which he usually indulged by sitting down quietly and contemplating until the pieces came together and created a clear idea. This time, however, he pushed the urge back and focused on the sick man on the floor.

"Can I get you anything?"

"No. Just leave me alone for a moment."

Nevertheless, Harry went to the kitchenette to get him a glass of water. When he turned around, glass in hand, he watched as Taran dragged himself out of the bathroom and into his bedroom where he sat on the bed. Harry took him the glass of water and worried as he watched Taran drink while completely out of it.

"Hey, you'll be fine. I'm going to catch him. I'm good at what I do."

Taran snorted. "Of course you are, Potter."

"What?" Harry frowned. The way Taran had said his surname was strikingly like...

Harry drew his wand and cast, "Finite Incantatem," on Taran. Suddenly, he gaped at the man sitting in front of him. "Malfoy?!"

A black-haired Draco Malfoy glared up at him and Harry saw it then. Malfoy's eyes were brown but they were still Malfoy's. The glamour charm had seemed to soften his features and darken his complexion slightly. It had been such an immaculately and subtly cast spell that it completely went under Harry's radar. But all other signs had been there if only he had sat down and taken a closer look at them.

Malfoy muttered darkly, "Five points to Gryffindor."


	4. Life is Strange

Harry closed his eyes at how utterly stupid he was. The posh accent, the drawl that came and went. The snottiness. Living alone, hidden away in the mountains in Muggle country, sealed in a house obviously built to keep intruders out. And so close to where Lestrange was to meet Greyback.

But most of all his voice – it had been Malfoy's. He had recognized it but instead of stepping back to pinpoint it, he had let his restless urge to leave the cottage in search of Lestrange overcome his reasoning abilities.

Harry laughed sardonically and said, "Brunet doesn't suit you."

Malfoy glared at him. "And you're newfound height doesn't suit you, Potter. It appears proper nutrition has the effect of turning you into an overbearing smart-aleck."

"Really? I've been told my confidence is sexy."

Malfoy shook his head and brought a hand to his face. "I had such a good thing going here," he mumbled forlornly.

"You look lonely, to be honest."

"I was safe," cried Malfoy, snapping his head up to glare at Harry as if accusing him of bringing Lestrange down on him. "No one knows me here. The Muggles keep to themselves. I'm alone...and maybe I am a bit lonely...but for the first time in a  _long_  time I was safe!" With that Malfoy buried his face into his hands and wept. "I'm tired of being afraid." He sobbed, shoulders shaking.

"Merlin," Harry whispered. He hadn't felt empathy of someone in some time. Life being the ironic bitch she was would have Harry feel it for someone he used to scorn. Something about "Taran's" demeanor had seemed very sad, though Malfoy's cheeks were full and rosy and he seemed to have filled out in the last three years. Overall, he appeared to be doing better since the war.

Harry sighed. He felt bad for Malfoy but he had a job to do. "Well, it goes to show you: you can't run from the past." Harry licked his lips, knowing that what he was about to say was going to destroy Malfoy's false sense of security. "For the past two years, Lestrange has been tracking and killing ex-Death Eaters. Mostly those who have been either inactive since the war or traitors - that includes any who have been pardoned. We think he might be trying to intimidate members into reforming the group but overall his motives are unclear. You and your mother played a pivotal part in defeating Voldemort and you also helped the Aurors with information on fugitive Death Eaters after the war. He was bound to find you."

Malfoy looked positively ill. "And Greyback too?"

Harry nodded. "We caught Greyback this morning. He said he was to meet Lestrange near here and together they were to come looking for you." When Harry saw Malfoy bury his face in his hands again, he put a hand on his shoulder.

But Malfoy quickly slapped it away and yelled, "Don't!"

"Malfoy, keep it together-"

"We need to get out of here!" Malfoy turned around, flinging himself unto the floor and dragging a suitcase out from under the bed. Then he froze, back straight and stiff, like small animal sensing danger. He turned abruptly, wide-eyed and asked shakily, "My mother – my parents...did he get to them?"

"No. I think I'd have been notified."

Malfoy looked absolutely terrified. He started to hyperventilate and Harry groaned, "Oh no," and ran to him, kneeling next to him. "Malfoy, come on. Stay with me – hey!" He swung Malfoy around to be able to look directly at him. "Look at me. Breathe."

It looked like Malfoy was trying his hardest to follow Harry's instructions, to keep his breathing steady, but his eyes looked haunted as they stared back at Harry's, tears welled up in them. His body trembled. It dawned on Harry suddenly, even though it made perfect sense: Malfoy was as damaged as he was. The lone chair, the bricked up windows, the cold fireplace, the hair-dye, the lack of magical objects in his home other than his own shoddy wand and a month's supply of calming draughts.

"Draco," he said gently. "It'll be alright. I won't let anything happen to you." Harry nodded to see if Malfoy was on the same page. When his former rival nodded back, still struggling to control his breathing, Harry continued, "We can't do anything until the storm lets up but neither can Lestrange. He's human too."

Malfoy shook his head fiercely. Harry frowned. "He's not," Malfoy whispered. "He's a monster. He..." something in Malfoy's eyes suggested he was suddenly remembering a horrifying memory – one no doubt involving his deranged uncle. His panic attack grew out of control. Malfoy bent over as he continuously struggled to breathe.

Harry hurried to the kitchen cabinets to retrieve the second calming draught of the day. After taking it, Malfoy's breaths grew steadier and he leaned back a little.

"You okay?"

Malfoy nodded and swallowed.

"I need to contact the DMLE but you don't have any Floo powder. You must contact your mother from time to time – how?"

When Malfoy removed a black Nokia cellphone from his jean pocket, Harry goggled. "Never in my wildest dreams...," he mumbled.

"Shut up, Potter," gasped Malfoy, still shaking but recovering his near-indomitable acerbic manner. "This stupid Muggle junk doesn't even get good reception on a clear day."

"Well get your things together. After the blizzard passes we're apparating out of here. You'll have to side-along me since I don't know this area much."

"Neither do I."

"W...? Malfoy, you've been _living_ here."

"I don't go out much! I just drive to town when I really need to. And even then it's the same road to the same stores, in and out. I never went bloody exploring!"

Harry sighed. When Malfoy stayed still and quiet for too long, Harry shook his shoulder gently. "Hey, are you still with me?"

Malfoy nodded somberly.

"Good. Come on. I'll help you pack."

A contemplative silence ensued as they packed Malfoy's things and placed them by the front door. Harry wished he could have been more sociable; say the right things and reassure Malfoy. But the silence was tense.

Harry sent Ron a Patronus telling him what he knew and where he was – though he never sent one from so far away and hoped it got to his friend on time.

An hour later, they were sitting on the couch side by side drinking chamomile tea. Despite the two calming draughts (to which Malfoy was probably developing an immunity), Malfoy still seemed nervous and out of sorts. It saddened Harry to think of Malfoy dealing with his panic attacks here all alone. Seeing his old school rival, once so proud and arrogant, reduced to neurosis and seeking a hermit's lifestyle was symbolic of the atrocities innocent children on both sides had experienced. They both might have survived it all, but they came out of it permanently scarred.

 _He's neurotic, I'm numb, and we're both paranoid and lonely,_ Harry thought grimly, oddly missing their old school days when they had both possessed healthier minds. Healthy kids fought and taunted. Damaged ones slunk around with terrible curses on their lips and grew up into distrustful adults that hid away their pain.

"Nearly freezing to death was probably a blessing in disguise, Potter. What were you thinking? Drinking bootleg Polyjuice Potion? It barely lasted. Lestrange would have discovered who you are. Then what? I'd have been left an unsuspecting target for that...evil bastard."

Harry watched Malfoy closely. One arm folded over the other which held the cup of tea near his chest, almost protectively. Harry knew he was putting on a brave face.

"And what if I had not run out of solution for my contact lenses and decided to make a quick trip into town? Or what if I had thrown my last remaining Pureblood pride out of the window and bought that sharp telly last week and watched the news and known there was a storm coming and never left even if I needed-"

"Malfoy, will you shut up! You sound like a nagging wife. And take those ridiculous contacts off."

"No. They are a part of me now. Plus, I'm nearly out of solution."

"The glasses too?"

"What?"

Harry nodded over to a pair of rimless rectangular eyeglasses on top of a book on the coffee table.

Draco snorted. "That's for when I go out."

"No holds barred, huh?"

Suddenly withdrawing into himself, Draco shrugged and muttered, "Didn't do much good, did it? I was still discovered and by the worst Dark Wizard possible...after You-Know-Who- _Wasn't_ -Such-A-Pureblood-Afterall."

The nickname made Harry snort – which was close to a laugh as he ever got. "Which begs to question: how did he find you? Is there anyone in town you think might have recognized you?"

Malfoy thought for a moment, then shook his head. "The townsfolk are all dumb Muggles. I don't go often and even then I only speak with the vendors. Well... _cashiers._ " After a short, thoughtful pause, he continued, "Well there was that salesman in the  _electric_  store that tried to sell me a  _Sharp_ telly but it didn't look very sharp to me. When I told him this he laughed and said I was funny, then chatted nonsensically and asked if I had _plans_ later. What did he mean by  _plans_? Maybe my ignorance gave me away? Maybe he's a Squib and he recognized me through my disguise?"

That actually made Harry laughed – and it felt a little like coming home, familiar and missed. Malfoy, however, didn't appreciate it and shot him a glare. Then Harry had three thoughts which instantly sobered him. One was that the gay Muggle salesman had probably been endeared to Malfoy's quirkiness. The second was the realization that he, himself,found Malfoy funny and cute – twice in one night at that. Finally, the last thought: that while he felt fine thinking of Taranas cute, he had issues with thinking of Malfoy that way...so what did that tell him?

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now he was using his investigative skills to analyze his own feelings towards an old rival with whom he had spent years sharing animosity.

"What is it," asked Malfoy.

"Nothing. What do you even do all day in here if you don't ever go out?"

"I do go out, Potter!"

"But you just said you didn't."

"Well, sometimes I'll take a short drive down the road among the flower fields in the spring, but it is the same road I take to town. And sometimes I sit outside on my lawn when the weather is nice."

"Wait...that's right – the car keys," Harry looked over at them as he realized it was Malfoy who owned them. "I can't believe it...you drive."

Suddenly Malfoy puffed out his chest and smirked. He almost looked like his old self again. "Well believe it," he said pompously. "I own an SUV which the Muggles call a Subaru – it is of Japanese origin – and I'm very good at operating it. Although I had to consult several Muggles before buying the right vehicle. Especially in this area which gets a great deal of snow during the winters."

"Where's your license then?" Harry only inquired about it to provoke Malfoy into showing it to him. Sure enough, Malfoy did. All too eagerly, he got up, grabbed his wallet from the side table by the front door, came back and took his license from one of the pockets.

The license was for Taran Maelwaedd. Harry looked at the picture and couldn't believe it. It was a version of Malfoy with a softer jawline, black hair, brown eyes, and eyeglasses. He looked a little stiff but over all it was a handsome picture.

"Did you know that they only give you one after an instructor approves of your skill? I suppose it makes sense if you're going to operate those dangerous machines. And Muggles have so many road rules! They're more organized than I thought."

Harry returned the license and Malfoy went to put it back before returning to sit beside Harry.

"Careful, Malfoy. I hear a tinge of respect in your voice."

Malfoy sneered. "Don't be ridiculous, Potter. I'm only saying they're slightly better than deranged neanderthals. Besides, how do you think I brought you all the way here?"

"You drove me here? People back home won't believe it."

"That's because you're not going to tell them."

"Well, considering I have to take you back for protection."

Malfoy shook his head. "No."

"Malfoy-"

"I'm not going back."

"Until I catch Lestrange you're going to have to."

"I'll just move to another country. Maybe Switzerland wasn't far enough. I could go to Japan...or Uruguay."

"He will find you and you know it."

Malfoy slumped, seeming exhausted. He sighed dejectedly.

"Why are you running? Why do you live this way?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Malfoy grumbled darkly.

Harry could understand that. He didn't want to talk about what was going on with him either. Even so, he was dying of curiosity. Through his connection to Voldemort, he had caught a few glimpses of Malfoy when his home had been, in effect, occupied by Death Eaters. He'd seen his rival struggle during Sixth year, though he had not fully been emotionally developed to truly grasp how traumatic that must have been to a child on the threshold of adulthood – a crucial and confusing enough time of change for anyone – and how utterly unfair the adults in their lives had been to them, pushing them to do things they were too young and mentally immature to take on.

Both Harry and Malfoy had been fifteen when it all truly started. Their entire adolescence - a time which was supposed to be their golden years, their first experiences of love and self-discovery – spent dragged through the horrors of a war waged to prevent genocide.

Question was, after years of living with a monster and his pack of madmen, all who terrorized him and coerced him to commit heinous acts against his will – how did that affect the man before him? The answer was the sight of Draco Malfoy breaking down, his words "I was lonely but safe," and how the once proud Pureblood supremacist and Muggle-hater chose to live – as a Muggle.

Yet, Harry wanted to know more. There was anger inside himself, perpetual and simmering just beneath the surface and numbing everything else. Seeking to understand and help Malfoy seemed to calm that anger down. It was like looking in a mirror but not at himself, so it was safe.

"What are you thinking about," asked Malfoy.

"I thought you didn't want to talk about it."

Malfoy shrugged. "Fine. Keep it to yourself."

After a short pause, Harry, a bit awkwardly, asked, "Did you ever think you and I would be sitting here like this? Having a conversation over tea?"

"In my quaint little cottage, no less," replied Malfoy with a smirk. "Never in a hundred years. Not before today."

"Life is weird."

"It sure is."


	5. Bricked Windows and Scars

On the second day, the two former rivals had developed a strange sort of bond over Muggle music. Harry was in love with Aaliyah's voice (and he lamented her tragic death only a few months before,) and Malfoy seemed to take favor with the track Butterfly by Crazy Town. That night after dinner, Harry thought it regrettable that Malfoy never bought a stereo and that they had to bring their heads together to share the headphones. He could hardly enjoy the music comfortably with Malfoy's lips only inches away from his own as they sat with their shoulders pressed together on the couch. Despite this, most of their time was filled with tension, on alert with the threat Lestrange posed looming over their heads, and ready to bolt as soon as the storm passed.

On the third morning, still listening to the wind shriek outside and still no answering Patronus from Ron, Harry grew worried. Malfoy whinging in the background, particularly irritable that morning, only worsened Harry's mood. His former rival was tutting and huffing as he washed the dishes.

"Must I do everything? After all I did for you, the least you could do is wash up after yourself. I'm not your bloody servant!"

Harry was sitting at the table, reading a Muggle esoteric book to pass the time. He sighed, steadily growing vexed, and said, "Just use magic. I'm your guest, aren't I?"

Malfoy slew around. "No, you're a stupid suicidal maniac that can even do his job properly!"

That caused Harry's already frayed temper to boil over. He slammed the book on the table and stood. "Are you serious? You ungrateful little shite! If it wasn't for me you'd be a sitting duck for Lestrange and whatever nasty things he has in mind for you!"

Malfoy flinched and the blood drained from his face. Harry swore under his breath, regretting what he said. Slowly, Malfoy turned to the sink, shut off the faucet, then walked towards his bedroom.

"Malfoy?"

"Leave me alone." With that he closed the door behind him.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. He knew they were both high-strung; knew Malfoy was afraid for his life and upset that he was going through that again.

Striding determinedly to the door, Harry knocked and said, "Are you okay? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have thrown my help in your face."

Malfoy called back petulantly, "You scatter-brained oaf! That's not what I'm upset about!"

"Then what? You're acting like a woman!"

Moments later, the door was swung open abruptly with an irritated Malfoy, his black eyebrows furrowed deeply under his bangs. "First of all, so  _what_ if I act like a woman? You say that as if it's a bad thing. Are you a misogynist, Potter?"

"Ah-what? No! That's not how I meant it! I meant that you're acting irr..." Harry trailed off, realizing what he was about to say.

Malfoy looked smug as he finished the sentence for him, "Irrational? Emotional?"

"Erm, sorry?"

"Well, I'm a man and I'm being all those things. So fuck you, fuck my father and fuck the Death Eaters!"

"Huh? What do they-"

"And second of all, I highly doubt it's  _acting like a man_  to be so fucking clueless. Did it ever occur to you that you're not the center of everything? I'm upset because I'm the target of a psychopathic murderer. I'm barely keeping myself together because I don't know what's going to happen. Are we going to get away? Or is he going to pull one over us and then...Merlin, he can be sadistic and perverse. I don't even want to think about it! But you have to remind me by saying things like, 'I'm the only thing standing between you and the nasty things Lestrange has in store for you.' Of course, it's going to aggravate my already frayed nerves!"

Harry was stunned. The only one that ever chewed him out like that was Robards, his boss, and Hermione. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm agitated with this situation too, so..."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Isn't an Auror supposed to keep their ward calm and under control?"

Harry glared and said dryly, "Okay, I got the point."

Suddenly it became awkward between them and the strained silence seemed to stretch until Harry cleared his throat. "If you want, we can go over our plan again. Maybe it'll help calm your nerves to focus on what we need to do rather than what might happen."

Malfoy seemed to think about then said, "Fine. Make us some tea, then."

Harry closed his eyes to keep himself from snapping. Then he realized he wasn't even that annoyed with Malfoy, just with their luck so far. "Fine, I'll make tea."

Malfoy nodded, looking like a bird with its feathers ruffled and it reminded Harry of the old Malfoy back in school; the one that acted like an attention-seeking prima donna when something bad happened to him. Even though Harry had detested that Malfoy, it was nice to see that the war hadn't completely destroyed him.

Harry snorted. "We sounded like a straight married couple just now. Let's reign in the dramatics in the future, yeah?"

Malfoy stared with his mouth agape, then led out a peal of laughter as he hid his face in his hand. Harry had never heard him laugh without derision inflected in his voice before. It was a lovely, youthful sound and Harry couldn't help it – it infected him and a genuine grin split his face.

"Merlin, Potter...please, please,  _please_...never say that again!"

"Sure thing," Harry said, but secretly he thought he wouldn't mind making Malfoy laugh like that in the foreseeable future. Then he realized how insane it was that the last person in the world he ever expected to make him feel again was doing just that.

Dreading to delve too deeply into it, Harry turned away from Malfoy and went to boil water in the kettle. When Harry sat down across the table from Malfoy with their teas, he caught his curious stare. "What?"

"I didn't say this before but there's something really different about you."

"That's not surprising. And I can list each thing I found different about you. It's a long one. I barely recognize you."

Malfoy cupped his teacup and watched the steam dance in front of him for a moment. "How do you do it?" he asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Eyes glued to his own teacup, Malfoy seemed uncertain whether he should expound on his vague inquiry. After a moment's pause, he licked his lips and said, "You did more than enough during the war. You accomplished your lot in it, so why...how do you just gear up and go back out into battle like it's nothing? Aren't you tired of fighting?" Suddenly Malfoy chortled derisively. "Look who I'm talking to..." he said to himself, then, "Have you ever even known fear?"

"Yes," Harry looked straight at him as he answered. "But to tell you the truth I like the adrenaline. Fear only fuels my anger and lately, that's all I  _can_  feel. If I don't go back out there; if I don't take each one of those bastards down..." Harry shook his head. "I'd go completely numb. Maybe go mad, start believing it was all a dream just so I can get away from remembering the helplessness of not being able to protect the people I love – the people that suffered. I wouldn't be able to live like you. I can't just forget what happened. I need to destroy them all after what they did or I won't be able to sleep at night."

Harry was struck by the hurt look Malfoy had in his eyes. "I haven't forgotten," he said through gritted teeth. "Just because I'm not an adrenaline junkie doesn't mean I sleep well either!"

The urge to argue with Malfoy, to let his temper rise at the sound of his rival's challenging tone was strong. But Harry kept it at bay, remembering the huge stock of calming draughts, the ingredients to make them and empty vials taking up a whole cabinet.

Harry rubbed the spot between his eyes. "You're right, sorry."

Malfoy looked at him curiously again. "See, that's what I mean. I just saw you get angry and then hold yourself back. The old you was like a volcano. There was no student or teacher that would have been spared your rebellious temper."

Harry chuckled. "Only if I thought they did something wrong. But you're right...I guess war mellowed me a bit."

"Not mellow. You're mature. It looks good on you."

At that, Harry eyed Malfoy closely, who turned his face away, ears red.

"I meant you look decent enough to function in normal society, Potter. Don't get you knickers in a twist!"

Harry smirked. "I'm not the one getting his knickers in a twist."

Malfoy faked coughing behind his hand to hide the tinge of pink on his white, soft cheeks, making them look like the petals of an apple blossom. The black hair against his pale skin only made his blush stand out more. "Another thing that's different: you're much more confident. Aside from that you look and act like the same old brash Gryffindork you were in school."

"Griffin _dork?_...got a bit of colonial vernacular, there. Are you sure you're Draco Malfoy?"

"Maybe I have a few American books and maybe every time I see the word dork I think of you."

Harry's eyebrows rose and he couldn't help the grin that slowly split his face. "So you've been thinking of me?"

Focusing rather avidly on tracing the gold brim of his tea cup, Malfoy shrugged with affected nonchalance. "From time to time, in the worst of ways as I am wont to do when I need a bit of cheer. Like the time I made those Potter Stinks badges – ah! Good times indeed!"

With a grimace, Harry added darkly, "Or the time you broke my nose?"

"I don't regret that one bit. It felt good at the time."

"Oh! And remember that time me and my mates cursed you so badly you turned into a giant slug? Or the multiple times I shut you up in public and your smug face would suddenly turn sour?"

Malfoy pursed his lips so tightly they almost disappeared.

"Ooh just like that!"

"Shut up, Potter." Malfoy sniffed indignantly and took a dainty sip. Harry was a little enchanted by the perfect grace of Malfoy's table manners if nothing else.

One particular memory cropped up bringing a more somber expression on Harry's face. "There is one thing I did to you for which I am truly sorry." While Harry searched for the proper words, Malfoy seemed to pick up on what he meant.

"Don't," he whispered. "Don't go there. I don't want to."

"Stop running," Harry retorted, a bit more brusquely than he intended.

Malfoy glared back and spat, "And what of you then? From what I hear, the war isn't even over for you. It's like you want to drag it out!"

Harry didn't respond to that. A self-centered coward like Malfoy could never understand his mission.

"There!" Malfoy pointed at him. "That look! That's what's truly different! Sometimes you look like you're made of stone and its eerie. You've always been emotional but now you're like...Rodulphus."

Harry's mood suddenly dropped to a dark place. He looked away, inspected the bricked up windows and pondered his own inability to feel sorry for himself. Maybe then, pathetic and sad like Malfoy, he might feel more human.

After a moment's silence, Malfoy mumbled, "Forgive me, Potter. It wasn't my place. I'm not one to talk, after all, am I? I've...bricked myself up in my own way."

When the minutes rolled by and Harry remained impassive, Malfoy's tentative voice broke through his brooding. "Are you alright?"

If it had been Ron or Hermione, he would have told them that he was fine and that they needed to stop fussing over him like old women. They were important to him and he simply didn't want to bother them now that they had started a new life together. Ron was finally able to talk about Fred. Hermione had managed to find her parents the previous year but was still working on the remaining gaps in their memories.

Malfoy, however, was lonely. Dealing with his own mental issues all on his own and prodding Harry the way Harry wanted to prod him – as if trying to look for their own image in one another, hoping that what they discovered wasn't terrible – then they didn't have to feel so excluded from the world.

That was why Harry chose to impart a piece of himself that he had kept locked away, even from his friends. "I still have nightmares," said Harry quietly. "I see people I love die in them. I hear them screaming in them. Sometimes, though, I dream that they're still alive and I'm so relieved and happy to see that they're okay...then I wake up and realize it wasn't real. Those are worse than the nightmares.

"I also hate forests. When I'm in them I feel like death is standing close behind me, like nothing is real and what I call life now is all a figment of my imagination. Sometimes I wonder if I did die and all this is playing out in my own dead mind. If part of me died, then maybe that's the change you see?"

Malfoy was silent, contemplative, attentive – an odd look for him even with the black hair. Harry continued, "And Voldemort – there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of him. I won the war but he took half my mind with him, I think. I mean I had a piece of his soul in mine all my life, without even knowing. I was one of his horcruxes, you know."

At that, Malfoy paled and swore under his breath. "Bloody hell, Potter. That's...horrific."

Harry smiled grimly. "So is walking towards your death, knowing it's the only way to save the world from a madman."

Harry told Malfoy the story of how he came back to life and when he was done, he wanted to laugh at the irony of Draco Malfoy giving Harry Potter a look of pity.

"I always watched your life from the sidelines," said Malfoy. "And I must say, it's worse than I thought. I remember seeing your body...thinking hope was dead. Believe it or not, I was rooting for you. I would have rather gone to Azkaban than spend another day ruled by  _him._ "

"I believe you. I did speak for you at your trial. I also watched your life from the sidelines. The time I got too close you almost Crucioed me."

Malfoy winced and looked away. "I was going mad with fear...spent the whole summer forced to practice Crucio on others. And I knew you were following me around which only added to the unbearable pressure I endured all year. So, when I saw you there, watching me at my weakest and most vulnerable - and you were the last person in the whole world I wished to have witnessed that - I merely reacted blindly. It was really the first and only ever Unforgivable I would have willingly cast."

"I reacted blindly too. And stupidly for that matter. I didn't know what the spell did but I still cast it. I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"But see, that is why it's not over yet. Not as long as those who made you do those bad things – you and me and many others – are off the streets in Azkaban. Or better yet, dead."

When Malfoy didn't say anything while trying to hide the fact that he was holding back his tears, Harry added, "The first time I've felt empathy for someone in a long time was the other day when you cried. It's terrible, but the reason why I think that it is...it's because I'm not envious of you the way I am of my friends. You're...well, you're not doing as well as they are. You're not better off than me."

At that, Malfoy lowered his gaze. He stayed quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke it was with great reluctance – as if he thought he owed Harry something. "I-I'm pyrophobic."

"Yeah. I noticed," Harry whispered, remembering Vincent Crabbe and Malfoy's grip around his waist.

"I have nightmares too. I..."

Harry touched Malfoy on the arm, but he flinched and snatched his arm away. "Malfoy, it's okay."

"It's not."

"I'm sorry I tried to pressure you into speaking before. You don't owe me anything."

After a rather pregnant pause, Malfoy said, "You didn't pressure me. You were right. I am running away. I don't know what's going to happen and you're the only person I've had a proper conversation with in so long," he whispered the last part as if in awe. "Other than my mother once a month, that is. It's just...when I dream, the screams I hear aren't from loved ones...they're the people...when I helped – Merlin, this is hard. I need a drink." He got up and went into his bedroom.

When he returned with a bottle of vodka and two tall glasses, he spoke as he poured the drink, filling up his own glass half way. His voice was reinforced with forced determination. "Most of the Death Eaters – the ones that weren't there because they were pissing themselves at being branded traitors – were all vile and cruel. But Rodolphus and Greyback were particularly skilled at cruelty. It's all a blur now and even back then, the days meshed together and half the time I was jaded or Imperioed, but one day the Snatchers brought in a Muggle mother and her daughter. I think she had received her first Hogwarts letter," Malfoy paused, closed his eyes for a second, then abruptly threw back the glass and took a generous, if desperate gulp. Harry winced at the sight.

"You-Know-Who gave them to my uncle and Aunt Bella. They tortured them both, then made me do it with them. In the beginning, I couldn't do it and got Crucioed enough times to teach me to obey. And I'm not you – if I had been I probably would have withstood the torture, come up with a crazy plan to escape with the Muggle-born and her mother, and with your heaven's blessed luck I would have succeeded beyond all odds. But I didn't think I was lucky and I didn't think of any plan. I did as I was told because I was out for myself. But then..."

Malfoy drank again and scrunched his face as the alcohol settled. His voice was rough with the burn of liquor and his words lacked his usual eloquence. "They threw the girls back in the dungeons and I was told to feed them. I took them their food and the mother...she begged me to kill her daughter. The girl was sleeping in her arms and the mother kept begging. I almost didn't do it. I couldn't. But when the woman broke down, the child woke up and started crying and screaming and her wild magic was making the whole place shake." Malfoy chortled wryly. "She would have been a powerful witch...given the chance. Her mother tried to shush her. As I watched I felt a numbness wash over me as if I'd been Imperioed but without the content feeling...like I was a spectator in my own body. I watched as I pointed my wand at the girl...and I did it. She stopped screaming but then the mother started to when she saw her child was dead, and so I killed her too."

"I didn't think you had killed anyone."

"Do you regret testifying for my innocence? I don't blame you. I intended to take this to my grave."

Harry said nothing at first, then shook his head, "I've tortured and killed too."

"You're different. Your targets are evil. Mine were innocent. You would have been able to save them. All I could do was spare them a worse fate than death."

Harry didn't say anything.

"But...well, if it makes you feel better I was not spared punishment." Malfoy's hand was shaking as he downed the last bit of vodka. His eyes were red; they seem to be looking into the distance. He poured himself more of his poison, but Harry knew that would never be enough. "I think I stood there staring numbly at them for a long time - or maybe seconds, I don't know. I was out of it. Rodolphus and Greyback walked in eventually and that brought me back from whatever subspace I was in. They saw what I did. I don't remember what they said. I remember Rodolphus was unmoved as always but Greyback was angry because he wanted to rape the mother. So he..." Here, Malfoy let out a dark, breathy laugh and wiped his tears. "I can't imagine why Greyback thought I was an adequate substitute or maybe he just doesn't care as long as it fulfills the need..."

"Fucking hell, Malfoy...are you serious?"  _Of course, he's serious, Potter,_ Harry told himself, somehow with Malfoy's voice in his head.  _What the fuck kind of question was that?_ "Why the fuck would you think that would make me feel better!?"

Malfoy didn't look at Harry – wouldn't look at him. But he shrugged off Harry's display of outrage and said, "Rodolphus too. Greyback was violent...but Rodolphus was slow and wanted it from the front and watched me the whole way and made me tell him endearments as if we were the sweetest of lovers. That was so much worse."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, recalling Malfoy's reaction when Harry told him Lestrange was nearby and searching for him. His heart hammered violently in his chest and his fingers tingled the way they did when he was about to go after a particularly nasty criminal. The blizzard still raged outside but Harry's body seemed to think he was ready for combat.

"I'm not going to let him anywhere near you. You have my word, Malfoy."

Malfoy still wouldn't look at him. He dragged his vodka glass across the table, and it seemed heavy for him when he finally picked it up. Harry waited for him to finish his sip before taking it from him. Malfoy didn't put up a fight. His hand went limp on his lap. Harry knew that the best thing to do when his own mind fell into that dark pit, where all the bad things from the past were kept, was to leave him be. He pushed the glasses and bottle of vodka to the side and sat in silence with Malfoy.

An hour must have gone by with only the sounds of the winds shrieking outside breaking the somber quietude. When Malfoy spoke, it was so low that Harry almost didn't catch it. "I never told anyone that. Not even my parents. Especially not them. I thought I could pretend it never happened."

Harry didn't say anything. He knew Malfoy wanted a silent ear so he sat and waited, but Malfoy didn't say anything else until he started nodding off. Harry got up and escorted him to the bed where he took his shoes off and tucked him in the covers. Then, he returned to the couch, looking straight ahead and quietly let his rage simmer.

This was the reason Harry could "gear up and go back into battle like it's nothing". He felt a great purpose course through his veins, pulling him away from the safety of home and hearth. He needed to bring down every last remaining Death Eater and make damned sure that none ever rose again.

 _And once they're gone, what then, Potter?_ Malfoy's voice in his head questioned.  _Move on to hunt every other Dark Witch and Wizard? Will you ever stop?_

"No," Harry said to himself like a madman. "I won't stop until I take them all down. And if that's 'till the death then so be it."


	6. Blast from the Past

The blizzard finally stopped early the next morning. Harry woke up, groaning, then realized it was quiet outside. He wished there was a way to tell for sure but his way would have to do the job. Making sure Malfoy was still asleep – Harry would prefer to avoid any criticisms of his intellect – he stepped into his inadequate Timberlands and undid Malfoy's defensive wards, then he apparated outside.  
  
It was as cold as the seventh hell but the sky was blue and clear. Malfoy's cottage and SUV were nearly half buried in snow. The cottage itself wasn't a problem, but the car and driveway were a different matter. It would take some time to clear the snow, and the road itself seemed to already have been cleared by a plow truck which meant the storm might have cleared hours ago while they slept. They needed to move now.  
  
Harry swore loudly, hoping Lestrange didn't have a head start on them. Needing to put the wards back up before Malfoy woke up and had a fit, Harry apparated back inside to find Malfoy's sleepy gaze search for him. Realization of what Harry had done dawned on his face and he scowled. But in his silk-white pajamas, bed hair and puffy face, the expression turned out to be more adorable than Harry cared to admit.   
  
“Before you nag at me, I was pretty sure it was clear outside.”  
  
“You were pretty sure?”  
  
“Err, yeah. I didn't hear the wind.”  
  
“You didn't hear the wind? Potter, last night you were wondering if You-Know-Who took with him half of your wits to the otherworld. Let me assure you he couldn't have. You'd be a drooling vegetable right now because half is all you ever had.”  
  
Leave it to Malfoy to take Harry's suffering and turn it into dark humor – the git had always been good at that. But this time Harry found it hilarious rather than offensive. He threw his head back and laughed.   
  
At first, Malfoy looked at Harry as if he'd gone mad but then shot him a well-missed Malfoy Brand smirk. When he had finally recovered his senses, Harry cleared his throat and said, “Right then. Get dressed and get your things, you're driving us out of here.”  
  
Harry dressed in his own dried clothes but when he stepped out of the bathroom, Malfoy was there, wearing a knee-length white parka with a fur-lined hood, a black turtleneck. His black bangs peaked from under a black knitted cap, making the light color of his eyes pop out rather enticingly. He was holding a thick, camo winter coat and glaring at Harry's attire.   
  
“No. Not good enough.” Shoving the coat into Harry's arms, he turned back and went into his room to fiddle in his closet until he withdrew a pair of thick, dark waterproof hiking pants and boots, as well as a black turtleneck and fleece sweater.  
  
“Put those on,” ordered Malfoy. “Oh and find something to cover your head as well. Top left drawer,” he nodded over to the dresser in front of the bed.  
  
“Never took you for the mother-hen type.”  
  
“If by mother-hen you mean making sure my only protector against a deranged killer doesn't die of pneumonia or get frostbite then...surprise!”  
  
Malfoy wasn't taking much with him, claiming he would have his mother's house elves retrieve the furniture if Lestrange didn't burn it all down. He dumped his two luggage cases in the car trunk. Afterward, they cleared a path from the driveway to the road; Harry with his wand and Malfoy with a shovel from the small shed on the side of his cottage. But Malfoy assured him his four-wheel drive had over nine inches of ground clearance – whatever that meant – so it could handle snow covered areas.  
  
When they got into the Subaru Harry noticed Malfoy was meticulous with the steps, like a teenager in front of his driving instructor. He put his seat belt on, checked his mirrors (Harry watched on with amusement), then turned the key and the vehicle rumbled to life. And then they waited.  
  
Harry looked at Malfoy with an eyebrow raised to which Malfoy responded, “It's got to warm up. Don't give me that silly look.”  
  
“This is weird...really weird,” said Harry.  
  
“Well get used to it. I may be a pureblood and sickeningly rich but I'm not incompetent.”  
  
“Uh huh.”  
  
“Shut up, Potter.”  
  
“No, seriously. I'm impressed.”  
  
Malfoy huffed but couldn't hide how pleased he was with himself with his pink nose pointed up. He backed up the car, turned and headed off the road. Malfoy drove slow and carefully, but the ride was still a little rocky.  
  
“Do you have your cellphone with you.”  
  
Malfoy nodded and dug into his coat pocket to retrieve it before handing it to Harry, who flipped it open. It had one bar that kept on flickering off. Worse, it only had one number saved to it. Harry tried calling it anyway.  
  
“Good luck with that,” said Malfoy. “Mother needs to go outside of the Manor to make or receive a call. She's not synced Muggle technology with magic the way I have.”  
  
“You'll have to tell me how you did that. It's going to change the magical world completely.”  
  
Malfoy shrugged, though he couldn't hide his pleased glow.   
  
“And why don't you have an owl?”  
  
“You're asking me that now?” Draco shot him a brief glance. “Notwithstanding my lack of windows, I simply don't want to care about anyone but myself. It's all I was ever good for anyway,” he added the last bit morosely.  
  
With a sigh, Harry rubbed the building pressure between his eyes. “Where are we going,” he asked.  
  
“I don't know,” answered Malfoy. “But I do know that it's the opposite direction of Lestrange.”  
  
Harry groaned. “Maybe I should have tried to make a portkey? How hard could it be?”  
  
“Very hard. Could you cast a Patronus on your first try? And it's also very illegal without the proper authorization. Switzerland is much more strict about it than the Ministry back home.”  
  
Harry swore.  
  
“Will you stop growling and swearing?”  
  
“I'm not growling.”  
  
“Well, whatever you're doing it's getting on my nerves.”  
  
“You know what gets on my nerves? Lack of Floo, owls, and bloody satellite reception. A possibly intercepted Patronus. Being incommunicado. You driving.”  
  
“Stop being melodramatic – that's my role. I don't think a Patronus can be intercepted and there's nothing wrong with my driv-”  
  
Suddenly the car was blasted from the side by a magical force. Malfoy lost control of the vehicle. It veered with a great screech off the barely seen road and slid down the icy slope, rolling a few times until it hit a large fig tree with a great downpour of snow from its branches. Throughout it all, Harry had barely registered that they had been attacked before it all went dark.  
  
He didn't know how long he was out for. Groaning, he stirred, aching all over, dizzy and disoriented. He looked around and noticed he was held by his seat-belt from falling into the snow-covered glass shards from what was left of his window. The car had flipped on its side. Malfoy, also held by his seat-belt, was slumped to the side. The airbags had saved them from certain death but Malfoy had probably hit his window because his forehead to the right was bleeding, his cap had fallen off, and he was still unconscious.  
  
“F-uck...Draco...” Harry tried shaking him and he stirred a little, brow creasing and letting out a weak moan, but he didn't wake up. “Shit.”   
  
Harry cast a levitation spell on himself before unbuckling his belt. He rightened himself with care so that he was standing on snowy turf through what was left of his passenger window and peered at Draco sideways. He grabbed the unconscious man under the arms, cast another levitation spell on him and carefully maneuvered him through the broken window above them and unto the snow beside the car. Then Harry climbed out and went to kneel next to Draco, taking him into his arms.   
  
He tapped Draco's bloody cheek and tried calling out to him. Draco moaned and hissed, a frown forming between his brows and his eyes slowly fluttered open. Harry sighed in relief.  
  
Even as he thanked Merlin, someone shouted, “EXPELLIARMUS!” quickly succeeded by “Accio wands!” had disarmed them both in a few seconds. Just like that. Harry would curse himself later for dropping all his training and letting his worry for Draco supersede the need to identify their attacker before all else.  
  
Harry glared up at Lestrange, tall, pale, his dark eyes fixed on Draco. Harry's grip tightening around him, even as Draco tried with trembling effort to sit up. Harry helped him up but didn't remove his arms from around him, keeping a fixed eye on Lestrange. He didn't understand why the man hadn't made a move against them yet.  
  
 _Is he toying with us_ , Harry thought.  
  
Draco gasped and backed up but didn't go far with Harry holding him. When, without a word, Lestrange made his way over to them, Harry stood up, ignoring the sudden dizziness from his brusque movement, and put himself in front of Draco. At this, Lestrange broke his stony expression with a smirk, a slight quirk on the corner of his lips as he switched his cold gaze from Draco to Harry.  
  
“Bewitched, Potter? He seems cowardly at first but he's got mettle if you dig deep. All he needs is a little push.” he paused to smile cruelly.  
  
Behind him, Draco was scrambling, with some difficulty to stand. He swayed a little and gripped Harry by the shoulder to steady himself. “Rodolphus...” he whispered shakily.  
  
“Nephew. So good to see you well. It wouldn't do to die now when we've only just reunited. There's so much to talk about.”  
  
“Funny,” answered Harry. “You never seemed like the talkative type.”  
  
Lestrange shrugged. “Not unless something needs to be said. And I think my wayward nephew is long due a reprimand.”  
  
“No,” whispered Draco weakly, his hand on Harry shaking.   
  
Lestrange pointed his wand at the same time as Draco's arms came around Harry's waist. The last thing Harry saw was a red streak shoot out from Lestrange's wand before he was apparated. The two men appeared somewhere dark and they stumbled over the snowy rocks. Harry broke free from

Draco's grip. The man looked terrified, shivering hands running through his blood-crusted hair. They were in a cave.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Hm?” Draco blinked, looking confused, trying to steady his breathing.   
  
“Where are we?”  
  
“ ...ha...I just...I thought of being in this place...I suddenly wanted to hide in it so badly,” he stopped to swallow and catch his breath, then continued, “I pick...asphodel nearby. T-there's a healing spring further in.”  
  
“You apparated us wandlessly,” Harry said in a slightly disbelieving voice. He had underestimated Draco's abilities, always believing he had nothing going for him except money. But now that they were no longer at each other's throats, Harry was beginning to see how capable Draco really was.   
  
“Hm?” Draco gasped through his heavy breathing. He still looked confused and Harry worried that the damage to his head might be worse than he thought.  
  
Harry cupped his face. “You did well. We're safe for now. Just concentrate on breathing.”  
  
Draco nodded. His eyes wandered and seemed dilated. Harry helped him sit on a boulder nearby and waved three fingers in front. “How many fingers am I holding?”  
  
“...two.”   
  
“Damn it,” Harry muttered. He turned, inspecting their surroundings. Streaks of sunlight streamed dimly through cracks in the cave's roof from which vines and roots dangled. There was a passageway to the left in front of them if Harry were facing the same way as Draco, and another one right behind them.   
  
Turning back to Draco, who seemed to slowly crawl out of his shock, he asked, “Which way is out?”   
  
“Hm?”  
  
Harry pointed at the two passageways. “Which one of these leads outside?”  
  
Draco turned and pointed at the passageway behind them. “The other one leads to the healing spring....ow...” He slumped, cradling his head.  
  
“We should drink some and save more in a bottle before we go. I don't want to leave you here alone. Can you walk?”  
  
“I think so but help me up.”  
  
Harry bent over and wrapped an arm around Draco's waist, who swayed a little. “Is it too far in?”  
  
Eyes closed, frowning in pain and dizziness, Draco licked his dry lips and said, “No. It's not a big cave. Just go straight.”  
  
Harry lead them towards the direction of the spring. The passageway was dark and Harry had to tread carefully, making him wish he had his wand. Draco tripped twice.   
  
“I should start carrying muggle matches,” pondered Harry out loud. Always good to have a backup plan. Much to his surprise, Draco muttered, “I have a lighter. Don't use it much, but...considering where I live you never know when you need one...Left back pocket.”  
  
Harry fumbled in the dark for Draco's left coat pocket while trying to keep the man upright with his other arm, almost taking him in an embrace. Draco cleared his throat and said, “Trouser pocket.”  
  
Harry was glad they were in the dark; he was sure his ears were bright red. He undid the bottom-most buttons of Draco's coat and slid his hand inside it, searching his hip until he dipped his hand into the left back pocket. Draco's trousers were a little on the tight side. Harry's palm almost cupped his buttock. The minute he felt something small and cold, he withdrew his hand as if burned.   
  
Lighting it, some of the rocky surroundings came into view. The tunnel was narrow and it grew narrower the further they walked, but soon enough, they saw a gentle green glow. Harry stopped as terrible memories resurfaced of him and Dumbledore in Voldemort's cave.  
  
“Shit,” he whispered.  
  
“Alright there?”  
  
“Yeah...are your certain it's a healing spring?”  
  
Malfoy groaned in pain. “My head...Potter, I am certain. Will you keep going? What else do you think it might be?”  
  
Harry opened his mouth but then thought better of it. He didn't want to talk about that, not now. It was long ago and to speak would summon those wretched feelings. Right now he needed his head on the game. He shook his head and walked further until they came out into the chamber with the spring. It glowed bluish-green, not at all like the potion he had to force Dumbledore to drink in the cave all those years ago. The spring was still, clear, pure. Merely looking at it seemed to rejuvenate him.   
  
Harry helped Malfoy to the edge and to drink from it. Malfoy threw his head back, eyes closed, and moaned in pleasure. His milk-white, elfin-sharp features having a sensually ethereal appearance in the soft glow. Harry swallowed hard and looked away. He closed his own eyes and mentally tried to banish the feelings crawling up in his gut and straying, much to his horror, further south. Thoughts of the nasty pranks and insults Draco had subjected Harry and his friends to when they were younger did not help at all, but, astonishingly, seemed to fuel Harry's growing lust.  
  
 _am so fucked up._ Harry told himself.  
  
He thought, then, of Draco's story of what Lestrange and Greyback had done, and that, thankfully, did turn him off. But it roused his righteous anger, waking up that dark avenger that seemed to have possessed him since the war.  
  
Clearing his throat louder than he needed to - as if to shake the sensations off - he leaned over, cupped his hands and drank. Indeed it was wonderful. As soon as the clear liquid slid down his throat, it was as if a gentle wave encased him and took away all his ailments with it as it ebbed away. He felt refreshed, his body temperature regulated, his aches vanished and his mind was suddenly clear. Amazing energy coursed through him and he felt like he could take on the world.  
  
“Damn, this stuff is bloody brilliant!”  
  
Draco laughed that clear chiming laugh from this morning. Harry looked at him with his gentle grin, soft gray eyes, pale face reflecting the delicate ripples Harry had made in the pool. Even with his dyed black hair and blood trails on the side of his face, he was beautiful.  
  
Draco noticed that Harry's stare was a strange one and he cocked his head to the side. “What is it,” he asked.  
  
“Nothing. It's nothing, Potter...”  
  
“It's 'nothing, Potter?'...are you speaking to yourself?”  
  
Harry cleared his throat. “I meant it's nothing, Malfoy.”   
  
Draco looked at him funny. Harry ignored him and took out his empty flask and put it under the pool to collect the water. “Do you have a flask or bottle with you?”  
  
Draco checked his pockets. He took out one vial of calming draught and frowned.  
  
“You won't need that.”  
  
“I beg to differ.”  
  
“This stuff works a thousand times better, anyway.”  
  
Draco stared him down in defiance but Harry kept his gaze until Draco finally broke and looked away. He gave Harry the vial and Harry dumped the contents in it and filled it with the spring water.  
  
“There. That should do it. Now let's get out of here.”  
  
“And go where? We're wandless, my car is wrecked and the nearest town is twenty miles from the direction of Lestrange.”  
  
“Then we need to get my wand back.”  
  
“Are you mad? I'm not facing that demon unarmed!”  
  
“I know that but we need to find a way. We won't survive out in the wild in these temperatures without at least a wand and all your hiking gear was left in the car.”  
  
“The car is more than half a day's walk and what if Rodolphus is waiting for us there. He must know we don't have many options.”  
  
“I can cast the disarming spell wandlessly. How about you? You just apparated us without one. Is there anything else?”  
  
“I don't know. And Rodolphus isn't my idea of a testing dummy. I can make a makeshift wand, like the one I had, but you bore witness to how terribly those things work. It could backfire...wait,” He smacked his own forehead “Oh, Merlin's balls. I'm so stupid! I never think when I panic!”  
  
“What?”  
  
Draco suddenly opened his coat as if an acidic Bundimun had spat on it. Harry thought he was going to take it off but instead, Draco reached behind him and pulled out a 9mm handgun from his waistband.  
  
Harry goggled speechlessly even as Draco himself blinked as if he only just realized he had left out a crucial element in all of this.   
  
“Well,” said breathed Harry in awe, “That'll do it.” He reached out to the weapon and Draco handed it over.  
  
“So you don't have any scruples with shooting a muggle projectile into Rodulphus Lestrange? Even if it kills him?”  
  
“No, Draco. I have no problem putting a bullet right through his fucking skull. It's as good as Avada Kedavra.”   
  
Draco spared him only a brief worried glance before looking down at the gun in Harry's hand as if contemplating something.

 


	7. Draco's New Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's perspective. I want to show how his view of Harry is starting to change as he watches Harry deal with their circumstances. 
> 
> So this story is mostly in Harry's POV, but at certain points, which I think are relevant, I want to show Draco's changes from inside his own mind as well. I don't want to portray all of it through their dialogue. No one is THAT open.

Draco sat on the boulder near the center of the dimly sunlit chamber they had previous apparated into. Harry crouched over the pitiful little fire that he had made with dried vine branches and leaves strewn on the cavern floor. The cave was chilly but shielded them from the worst of the cold.

"I was going to shoot you with it, you know," Draco said, staring into the fire. His tone was only half playful.

Harry looked up from warming his hands, quirking an eyebrow.

Draco smirked at him. "Good thing that Polyjuice Potion was such bad quality and you turned back into yourself in that precise moment."

"I wouldn't have blamed you if you did. When you see a dog foaming at the mouth you don't call animal control, you blow its bloody head off."

Draco frowned. Whether it was a soldier's mentality or not, he felt disconcerted with how flippantly Potter treated the act of killing for survival. Noticing his frown, Potter shrugged and looked away from him.

"I don't know," Draco muttered hesitantly. "I don't know what's right or wrong."

"Not everything is clear-cut like that. I wouldn't waste time mulling over what's morally acceptable when faced with the end of a Death Eater's wand – certainly not from one that's already hurt you before. Any soft-bellied witch or wizard that thinks otherwise from the comfort of their home can shove their naivete up their arses for all I care." Potter's tone seemed to indicate something personal there. Draco didn't ask. He detached himself from society for a reason.

Minutes rolled by as both men stared into the fire before Draco whispered, "I don't ever want to kill again."

"You won't. I'll do it for you."

"That's not much better."

"Listen, Draco, you don't get to plan out a happy ending. You've got to choose: your life or your enemy's." Draco flinched and Potter added with a softer tone, "Just focus on keeping yourself alive and backing me up if the need arises. Leave the rest to me. I'm the one with combat training. You're a civilian under my charge. I won't ask you to do anything dangerous."

Draco nodded, moistening his dried lips. If he thought too deeply about all the things that could go wrong, he'd lose his mind. Thankfully, the effects of the healing water were still in his system and it kept him calm enough to focus. He stared into the fire feeling strangely safe in the chilly cave.

"Before we plan our next move, we need to take stock," said Potter. "And we should form a backup plan in case things go pear-shaped."

The words were perfectly tactical for the once brash Griffyndor who had thought nothing of rushing through the halls of Hogwarts after curfew to face a rival's challenge. He looked at Potter from beneath his eyelashes and drawled, "Good to see Auror training beat some of that stupid impetuousness right out of you. You're thinking more like a Slytherin."

"Uhuh. Well, we all learned something, didn't we? Like how Muggles aren't so bad after all."

Potter could jab at him all day, Draco would never admit that. Though he was quite content with the knowledge that his father was partially right and there were some Muggles that still held ridiculous religious beliefs about magic being evil. At least in the very Catholic town he frequented, if nowhere else. He recalled the young Muggle girl in front of the small pharmacy, barely an adolescent, being harassed by a group of her school peers for being a "witch" and "devil's whore". Draco hadn't lingered to watch.

Draco snorted. "At least they're not burning us on the nearest stake anymore."

"Give it a rest. That was centuries ago. You've even taken an interest in their own esoteric and alchemic studies. Like ' _Vril'..._ whatever that is."

" _That_  is the reason electronics and magic can be synced.," he said with the affected air of mystery and superiority of one who was enlightened to truths that escaped the majority. Such behavior never impressed Potter, who raised his eyebrows questioningly at the revelation. Draco shrugged and added, "A conversation for another time. So what's the plan?"

"First answer me somewhat. How long does it take to create a makeshift wand?"

"Depends. I made mine from the wood of one of the spruce trees behind my cottage and kneazle's hair at its core."

Harry scrunched his nose. " _Kneazle's_ hair?"

Draco nodded with a small wince. "It's a magical substance, after all, but very substandard. You saw my transfigured chair."

"Why don't you have a proper wand?"

Sometimes Draco marveled at how Potter could seamlessly thread stupidity with his otherwise adequate reasoning abilities. It was almost a noteworthy talent. "You wrested it from me, remember? And no wand maker in Europe would sell me another. They all know what happened to Ollivander. They think it would be spitting on his honor. Did you really think it would be so easy for me to get a new wand after the war after all my family and I have done?"

Blinking like a dumb fish, Potter mumbled, "Oh. Well, what about your father's wand?"

"I'm not using his wand. He'll need it when he gets out of Azkaban – which should be soon."

Turning his head away from Draco, Potter stared glumly at the fire. "You still honor your father?"

"Yes, well," Draco replied stiffly. "Back to the problem at hand." Thankfully, Potter let him evade the question. He had mixed feelings about his father. "I need a magical core, otherwise, alas, no magical wand."

"Are there non-magical wands?"

Draco gave him a dry look. "Muggle Wiccans."

"Ah," Potter said and grabbed a twig that was mostly sticking out of the fire. "I won't ask if you ever tried using one."

"I'd rather roll down this mountain to my death."

Potter gave him a "yeah, sure" look, before going back to the dirt in front of him where he started writing letters and check-marking them. "Okay, we're armed with a gun and a few wandless defensive spells on my part, my shrunken Invisibility Cloak, and a couple of bottles of healing spring water. Can you give me a layout of the terrain from here to the car?"

Nodding, Draco described what little he knew of the area from when he would drive up from home to forage in the mountains. As he did so, Harry drew lines on the dirt, making himself a map. Draco didn't know how accurate it was, but he trusted Potter to know what he was doing.

When he was done, Potter pointed with the stick, dragging it north, down the mountainside. "The car's near your home which is about sixty kilometers from where we are, is that right?"

Draco nodded.

"That could take us ten to eleven hours on foot. We'll have to camp somewhere safe and warm halfway. So collect any dried wood you see as it's sparse." At that Draco groaned and Harry shot him a glare. Draco looked away, arms crossed, as Potter told him, "We're going to have to rough it for the foreseeable future until we get word out to the DMLE. No complaining."

"I'm not complaining."

"You just groaned."

"So?"

Sighing, Potter shook his head and let it go. "You said there's a river here," asked Potter, pointing at a squiggly line. They would travel north alongside it before crossing it.

Draco nodded.

"Anything else?"

"I don't know. I've never traveled to that area. I usually cross it right here, just at the foot of the mountain. It's a bit of a hike from there, maybe twenty minutes straight east until you get to the road. Then I drive back. But we're heading north from here."

Potter didn't look to be too discouraged by the lack of information on the terrain. He simply nodded, and said, "Once we're there, we'll be coming up on the west side of the road in a clearing, in full view of your home. If it still stands, we should assume Lestrange is inside."

"What if he's not."

"That's why I said,  _assume._ Assuming the worst danger keeps you on your toes and keeps you alive. Don't ever assume you're out of the woods." When Draco couldn't fully contain his smirk at his choice of words, Potter rolled his eyes and ground out, "So to speak."

"Sadly, your Invisibility Cloak won't exactly cover us."

With a grimace, Potter nodded in agreement. "I'll try to engorge it wandlessly tonight. Worth a try at least. Thankfully Stealth Training doesn't depend on Invisibility Cloaks. I can sneak around the cottage and surrounding area to make sure it's empty while you stay hidden. When I've determined the area is in the clear, we'll grab the hiking gear, then make a roundabout trek to the town. If there are hostiles..."

As he watched Potter lay out their plans and back up plans, Draco realized that it never dawned on him before, having never any cause to sit down and contemplate his former rival in a neutral light, that Harry Potter had an astonishing capacity to productively deal with the high stress of being in a life-or-death situation. Even as a young boy, it had always come naturally to him. The war only hardened and refined his natural warrior instincts.

 _The Ultimate Griffyndor_ , Draco thought with dry humor.

Peering closely at Potter's face, his deep-set green eyes focused on the map, on his mission, strands of black hair falling over his furrowed brow with the light of the fire glinting of the glass of his silver-rimmed spectacles, Draco thought he had grown quite handsome. His jaw was more angular now that it lost the last of its baby fat, outlined by a chin-strap beard. His neck was thicker too. He had certainly filled out and packed on some muscle.

"You've done this sort of thing before?"

Potter shrugged. "I'm no stranger to being hunted down by Death Eaters."

"I don't think I could have done this without you."

Whatever response he had expected, it wasn't the sight of Potter's teasing smirk and words, "Are you saying you trust me, Malfoy?"

Draco remembered the sound of his first name on Potter's tongue earlier that day and shrugged off the silly disappointment at the use of "Malfoy". He looked away and shrugged, hoping he looked nonchalant. "Well, you're not the untrustworthy type, are you, Golden Boy? Stop fishing for flattery. It's unseemly. Then again you've always been after my attention, haven't you? As I recall you couldn't stand the fact that I ignored you Sixth Year and decided to stalk me."

He only heard the sound of Potter's snickering in response, and he could not help but wonder why Potter seemed to laugh every time Draco insulted him, rather than instantly blow a gasket. It was an aggravatingly new development.

"I think  _you're_ the one that always sought my attention. I would have been fine going through school without looking your way, but you just couldn't leave me alone. That's why I knew something was up with you in Sixth Year." Amusement lightened Potter's voice, made him sound less of a soldier. It was a pleasant sound.

"Keep flattering yourself you speccy git."

Potter only laughed some more and Draco couldn't believe that the subject of Sixth Year had cropped up without triggering their trauma. He supposed their current predicament made it easier to block out the nasty details as they had more pressing matters to attend to. The mind didn't dilly-dally over past regrets when on survival mode.

When the night drew in, the temperatures rose and they huddled together for warmth, sitting on the ground with their backs to the boulder. The fire was too small to stave off the worst of the cold. Potter had removed the Invisibility Cloak from his pocket and stared morosely at it. Both of them had tried and failed to cast a wandless Engorgio.

"I can't do it."

Draco frowned and chewed his lip with worry. "So what then?"

"We do things the Muggle way," Potter said, wrapping an arm around Draco and drawing him closer.

Draco stiffened. He knew it was for warmth but he couldn't help the blush that spread on his cheeks at the feel of Potter's hard, warm body pressed against his. As he huddled closer, Potter raised his hand and seemed to concentrate on something for a moment. Seconds later, the fire grew bigger.

"Well," said Potter, "That one worked at least. We should get some sleep. Got a lot of ground to cover tomorrow."

When Draco woke up the next morning, the fire had been reduced to ambers and soft, gray beams shot through the crevices on the cavern roof. He blinked drowsily, gently entranced by the dancing dust particles glowing inside the pale rays. Harry stirred next to him, and Draco drew himself out of his arms.

His body was stiff and aching. He stood to stretch as Potter followed suit with a groan of his own, before stomping on the ambers. Potter took the gun out and checked the ammo.

"I've got a few more magazines in the glove compartment," Draco informed him.

"Music to my ears," said Potter. "We need everything we can get. Anything else?"

Draco thought about it and after a few seconds, snapped his fingers. "I believe I have a hatchet with my hiking gear. I never used it though. I don't remember if it's in the car."

Potter nodded. "Well, we'll see what we've got when we get there. Ready?"

Draco nodded, feeling oddly calm. When he mentioned this, Potter told him it was natural after the high adrenaline of the day before and the natural ability the mind has to adapt to its circumstances. The way he spoke like it was an everyday thing for him caused Draco to swallow down a nasty surge of guilt from their schoolboy days. Back then he thought Potter's near-death experiences were great fuel for taunting him. He thought only of his own amusement. Now as an adult, with his own experiences, it finally dawned on him how wretched he had behaved towards Potter – even if it had been to get his attention.

One day he would apologize. For now, the words were stuck in his throat. He shuffled quietly after Potter as they exited the cave. Thankfully it was a clear day. From the path winding down the mountainside, they could see the vast white terrain to the north. It was heavily forested and not much could be seen other than the tops of fir trees.

Potter grimaced, then sighed. "Well, come on then. We need to cover as much ground as possible." They trekked down the path Draco usually used and once at the foot, rounded towards the north.

Except for the one day a month that he came to forage and the odd walk around his cottage after tea, Draco usually stayed at home and wasn't terribly accustomed walking far. It didn't help that he had a pampered upbringing. After a few hours, his feet were aching and he had a cramp on his side. Still, he forcefully dragged himself through the snowy turf after Potter, who hadn't noticed that Draco started to lag behind.


End file.
